


On the Clock

by Hanatamago



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Ch 4 will raise the rating to E, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanatamago/pseuds/Hanatamago
Summary: The three times that interruptions pulled Charon and Hermes away from each other, and the one time that they kept going anyway.---Some sweet and spicy goodness for the professional associates!
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 106
Collections: Hades Game Holiday Gift Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MxTicketyBoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/gifts).



> For Boo!
> 
> I got a little over-inspired by your prompt so I decided to post it in two parts and take a little extra time to work on the second bit, which will deliver the spice you desire :)  
> For now, take some fluff! 
> 
> Prompt:  
> Sweet and spicy Charmes/Professional Associates - Canon or AU. Hoping for something cute and sexy with emphasis on the feels and Charon and Hermes being super into each other. (And if it happens while they're plotting some kind of scheme and getting each other hot that way, all the better.)

The Styx was many things. 

Grim. Unnerving. Constant. 

Charon, in turn, resembled all those many things as well. He is the ferryman of the dead. The keeper of the underworld. Souls departed from their frail, perishable bodies trudged on towards the Styx. Charon was not a guide to their final destination. He was no escort, paying mind to their needs as they transitioned into the eternal realm of the dead.

Charon _was_ the Styx. 

He was grim, unnerving, and constant.

Even among the gods of the underworld, Charon was not well-liked. A creeping shadow from which they respectfully averted their eyes. An inevitability of the realm. A leftover entity from the time when chthonic beings alone inhabited the underworld.

Younger gods shied away from Charon. In general, all beings did. He did not blame them. His nature had been called… ‘creepy’.

Charon gazed down at the Styx, glimpsing his own reflection.

‘Unnatural’ was a term often thrown around for his appearance. On its face, not harsh, but Charon was not so dull to understand the meaning. It was simply a passably polite version of the more accurate descriptor: ‘uncomfortable’. To beautiful, smooth-skinned gods and vibrant mortals, perhaps it was uncomfortable to gaze upon him.

One purple eye glowed in the rippling Styx, peering back up at him. His skin was taught and greyed. Ivory waves of his hair fell below his wide-brimmed hat, resting just below the gilded collar of his cloak.

“Hrrrhh…” Charon sighed. He pushed his oar into the water, dashing his reflection. He paddled further along the river, but even the soothing current of the Styx could not drown out his nagging thoughts.

Most gods shrank at his presence. His looks, his sounds, his severity - most avoided the Styx entirely, just to ensure they had no chance of running into the intimidating ferryman.

Except one.

Fearless, flighty Hermes. The shining messenger god from Olympus. His… 'business associate’. 

Charon did not think much of the newer gods on their little mountaintop, but the little winged god had become an exception. Where the other gods on Olympus thought far too much of themselves, Hermes managed to be much humbler, braver, and far more interesting than all the other gods combined.

Hermes was an aberration in his realm. He was… Charon struggled to put words to the essence of him. The beat of an Elysian butterfly’s wings. Torchlight dancing off his obol. Ripples in the Styx as his ferry sailed along its eternal path. He was light, and he was rhythm. He was a noise in the echoing caverns of Tartarus, and something to fill the void Charon had not realized existed in his realm.

Hermes was the heartbeat that Charon did not have, and had never known that he wanted. He was the life that Charon had not realized he basked in. Humanity, not mere Olympian nobility. Virtue, but not without excellent, interesting vice.

Charon had not known how much he desired Hermes until he considered the possibility of _having_ to begin with.

But such a thought was misguided. Hermes did not feel the same current pulling him towards the ferryman, and Charon could not simply take Hermes. Charon might hoard his obol and collect his gems. He might store away his wealth and treasures in his vaults, hidden deep within Erebus. Mortals paid their way into the underworld with such things - a fee for his services and a show of deference for the laws of the Styx. Charon filled his vaults with tributes from mortals and gods alike, and he had no shortage of these generous prizes.

But Hermes was no tribute. Bright as he shone, he was no obol or gem for Charon to keep away in his vault. Charon could not cage his fluttery wings, or trap his glowing light in a glass jar. And strangely, the thought only made Charon want him all the more. Though Charon did not fully understand the mortal (or immortal) way of things, he understood this much. If Hermes did not stay of his own volition, then he would be unhappy.

Charon did not want him to be unhappy,

It was quite simple, at its core. Charon would allow himself to enjoy Hermes’ light on his brief visits to the underworld, and he would content himself with what little time he had. If not long enough, Hermes’ visits were at least frequent - even more so now that Zagreus was foolishly attempting to escape the underworld. Perhaps he should have thanked the prince for his unintended benefits, but Zagreus would not understand, even if he could parse Charon’s words.

Charon did not precisely understand the… ‘feelings’ he had for the little messenger god. He knew that Hermes entranced him - such that he had difficulty looking away when Hermes’ face lit up as he told his most interesting tales of the surface realm. He knew that he found Hermes to be more interesting to look at than the shifting Styx itself (though perhaps that was only due to his past many millennia spent staring into its tides). He knew that Hermes was alluring, like a baited hook to a fish. But he did not want to devour Hermes, so he supposed it was different altogether.

Such feelings were foreign to him. They were too mortal, too… mundane for his comprehension. Charon had always thought himself too abstract for such things. His chthonic nature had befuddled the other gods often. Now, their humanity befuddled him too.

So while Charon did not precisely _understand_ the depths of his feelings for Hermes, he knew that he felt him nonetheless. Nyx had (under the strictest confidence) helped him to put mortal words to the feelings, befuddling as they were. When Hermes flew to his docks by the Styx, he felt ‘excited’ (though he would never present himself as anything other than unaffected, for both of their sakes). When Hermes told his stories of Olympus, he felt ‘fondness’. Not at the stories - certainly not at the subject matter - but at the way Hermes’ voice rose and tumbled along with the words. The way his wings twitched when he got to the most dramatic parts. The way he laughed whenever he told Charon about Dionysus’ latest antics.

He was truly entrancing. Charon felt he could gaze at Hermes for hours and still not know all of him - and he would enjoy every moment. But when Hermes looked back at him, he simply felt… strange. Weak, as though his bones had crumbled to dust. Out of place, even in his own rowboat. Pinned but in an odd, ‘exciting’ sort of way.

Charon rowed to his first, crowded station - the docks of Tartarus. Hermes already flits around the queue, attending to a few of the shades needing assistance. He offered many things to the departed souls. Explanations, stories, comfort, and coin to those who had none. Truly, professionally, Charon could not have asked for a better partner in guiding mortals to the beyond. Where Charon was mute and awkward, Hermes provided the soft light that the short-lived ones seemed to need.

“See, there he is now!” Hermes waved over to Charon as he ushered a few last shades into the queue. He was delightful to watch at work. So quick, so exuberant, but not in the terrible blinding way of other gods who _intruded_ upon his grim realm.

“And there we go! Come on, come on - take your seats now.” Hermes said, speeding over to the boatman, “That’s it, all settled. Everyone’s ready to depart!”

“Graaaaahhhh…”

“Yes, I suppose that might have been faster than average - or maybe you were just a touch slower than average.” Hermes laughed. “I’m not keeping the exact numbers, though. But maybe I should, shouldn’t I? I know how you are about your ruthless efficiency. I’m not going to be the slowest link of the chain, no thank you!”

Charon clutched his oar tight in an attempt to chill his thin chthonic blood to its normal lukewarm temperature. A futile attempt. He could never feel quite ‘normal’ around Hermes.

Hermes turned back towards the now-crowded ferry, each shade stripped of their passage fee. “All settled up? Good, good.” The last few stragglers squeezed onto the ferry. As the last obol clinked into his pouch, Charon closed it up and tucked the coin into his flowing cloak.

“And how about you?” Hermes asked quietly. “Anything I can do for you, my good associate?”

“Hreeh?”

“As in, anything you need,” Hermes explained. “A nice chair, perhaps, to rest in between your trips? Or a book - you seem like the type to enjoy some leisurely reading. Anything of the sort.”

“Hrrroohh,” Charon groaned. He did not know why Hermes’ suggestions made his stomach feel strange, but the refusal came out of him in a cloud of mist before he could think.

“Yes, yes it _is_ necessary.” Hermes chuckled. “Look, you do a lot for these lost little souls. I know it’s your job - and I’ve got my job too. I certainly do. And it’s no slouching for either of us! So I still want to thank you for it, if I can. You’ve been wonderful, you know. Couldn’t ask for anyone more reliable. Anything I can do to get that across, you just let me know.”

Charon thought for a long, silent moment. There were plenty of things he could have asked for from Hermes, patron god of merchants. Material wealth - jewels, gold, artisanal crafts - all things to add to his hoard. But Hermes was far above paying Charon’s toll in riches. It would feel strangely _wrong_ for Charon to ask him to pay tribute in that way (though, why it felt so wrong, Charon did not know - he would ask any other god to pay in such a form).

And he would not ask for Hermes, either, for he had already settled on the unfavorable consequences of such a cold request. ...But he could ask to _know_ Hermes. Information, not wealth, not time. A secret? Perhaps that would sate his strange desires. Perhaps it would free the strange tangled feeling from the confines of his chest...

Feral growls and battle cries rang out from Hermes' pouch, knocking Charon from his arcane, spiraling thoughts. The winged god frowned, lips curling into an annoyed grimace as he checked his pouch to confirm the source of the growling.

“Well, you take some time to think on that, associate - no rush.” He sighed, “Got to answer this one - Ares doesn’t take well to being lowered on the priority list, no sir.”

“ _Crrrhhh_.”

“ _Ha_! For your safety, I won’t tell him you said that! Lips absolutely sealed!” Hermes smirked, “I’ll be back soon enough - you go ahead and ponder on my offer for an eon or so, however long it normally takes you.”

Hermes sped off, leaving only a faint trail of light behind him as he ascended from Tartarus back to the realm above. His realm. Charon sighed. His visit had been cut short, but Hermes would visit again soon. Shades fidgeted in the rows of his ferry, unsettled, yet eager to complete their journey into the afterlife.

Charon could only look forward to Hermes’ next visit. He thrust his oar into the waters of the Styx, rowing on along his eternal path.


	2. Chapter 2

“This way, please!” Hermes called his line of the dead down through Tartarus, guiding them to Charon’s docks. “Oops, don’t trip there, lad.” Hermes zipped down, catching a clumsy shade just before he toppled to the ground. “Watch your step, the rocks get a bit uneven down here. Don’t worry, you’re almost there. Hard part’s over now, right?”

Charon paddled his ferry to the edge of the docks, sticking his oar deep down into the riverbed to stop his ferry’s slow drift. Wordlessly, he caught Hermes’ gaze.

“And there’s my kind associate!” He shot Charon a sunlit smile. “Right on time, as always. Okay now, single file, my good shades. No cutting, there’s room enough for all of you! Keep moving, keep moving. We haven’t got all of eternity. Well, we do, I suppose, but you’d be terribly bored after the first decade. Mortals have incredibly short attention spans!”

“Hraaahh,” Charon murmured, greeting the speedy little god. The queuing shades flinched at the noise. The one boarding the ferry nearly dropped their obol at the growling sound. Hermes had told Charon once that he frightened them. He had then said that it was silly of them to be frightened at all, but that death, generally, put people on edge.

Hermes had also said that he saw nothing to be frightened of at all.

“Good to see you,” Hermes flew over to him, wings beating quickly as he hovered over the Styx. “We’ve got a good crowd of shades today. Civilians mostly - homemakers, artisans, even a few merchants. Apparently there’s a bit of a plague going around on the surface. Olympus has been pretty hush-hush about the whole thing, but for my money, it’s Demeter’s doing.”

“Hrroh?”

“Well, not a _reason_ exactly, just process of elimination. Could be Apollo, I suppose, but he’s seemed in high enough spirits lately.” Hermes shrugged. “Demeter on the other hand… Well enough of all that - it’s your turn to talk today, associate!”

“Nnnnnrrrhh…?” Charon groaned awkwardly. He didn't really have anything to say, exactly… And Hermes was much, much better at carrying on conversation, even at the worst of times. His stories filled the silence with interesting tales and genuinely amusing jokes. 

For his part, Charon had never been uncomfortable with the silence to begin with, though Hermes’ voice was a wonderful improvement upon the ambient rumbling of the Styx. It wasn’t exactly Charon’s fault that he was worse at making conversation than Hermes (though he would admit that his social skills were… underdeveloped). Charon simply didn’t have anything interesting to say.

“Oh, come now, you’re not that bad a conversation partner,” Hermes chuckled.

Charon simply growled and shook his head. Usually, the little god would have taken off by now. Off to yet another mission, to yet another message to deliver. But this time, he stayed even past the time that Charon would normally depart on his journey along the Styx. Hermes had never been one to linger, had he?

“Of course I find you interesting.” Hermes grinned. “Ferryman of the dead? I could do worse for a business associate. I could, really. You’ve got a lot more to you than any of the gods on Olympus, that’s for sure.” And that… It made Charon feel strange all over again. Warm inside, though he had no need or use for such heat.

Hermes flitted closer to him, curious. Charon could only look away, staring down into the River Styx. The Styx was constant. The Styx was friendly. The Styx was not threatening to crack his grim, unaffected facade with every pretty, lilting word.

“Are you blushing, boatman?” Hermes chuckled. Charon could feel his radiant wings peeking over his shoulder, spreading warmth all along his neck. “You are, aren’t you? In a purely metaphorical sense.”

Charon swatted behind him with the hilt of his oar. (Half-heartedly, of course.) Despite the (admittedly pleasant) heat under his chilled skin, he didn’t really care to shoo Hermes away. The strange feeling was unwelcome, but Hermes’ joy was infectious. Charon… Charon did not know precisely what he wanted. 

“You _are_. I can tell these things, you know. Transcends anatomy.” Hermes smirked. Charon could not see the smirk, but he could _feel_ it so plainly in his teasing, self-satisfied tone. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell! I know you’ve got to keep up the whole scary ferryman act. But there’s a catch! Always a catch - just a simple favor, and no one has to know. So what do you say, hm?”

“Hrrrrrrn?” Charon doubted that anyone would even _believe_ Hermes regardless. But in an unexpected bout of whimsy, he was inclined to play along.

“Yes, it _is_ blackmail, and _no_ , I don’t feel the slightest shred of guilt.” Hermes flitted around, hovering in front of him. “So. Let me ride with you in the ferry? I’ve never seen the other parts of the underworld before. Figured you could give me a bit of a tour?”

Hermes gazed up at him with deep, brown, terribly entrancing eyes, and Charon felt a little piece of him melt. He sighed, low and raspy. A thick puff of violet smoke billowed out into Hermes’ space, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he only hovered closer under the brim of Charon’s hat.

“Please?” he whispered, “You know my curiosity is nigh insatiable. Especially when it comes to you, dear boatman.”

Warm. Charon felt warm. Very, very, very warm. And tight, as though his chest threatened to squeeze every last wisp of chthonic darkness from his lungs. Charon crumbled.

“ _Graaaaaahh_ ,” he conceded, pulling away from Hermes to stop the overwhelming warmth. Was this what Hermes had meant by ‘blushing’? His cloak swept over the ferry floorboards as he took his normal rowing position and used his oar to push off the docks.

“Thank you, Charon,” Hermes giggled, though his thanks seemed pure and genuine. In truth, had Hermes simply asked before, Charon would have accepted easily enough.

But perhaps Hermes would not have found that as entertaining.

Charon decided that did not dislike this approach either.

His oar easily sent them into the river’s currents. Curious shades quickly took their seats, fearing the possibility of tumbling into the river. They began their somber journey down the Styx. Though, with Hermes perched at the bow of his rowboat, it certainly did not seem as somber as before. Charon wondered if the little god put the shades at ease too. Waves of rippling souls in the Styx parted under the ferryman’s oar as he rowed them up the river.

“Crrrrrrhhh,” Charon rumbled, telling him small, generally uninteresting things about the regions. The bleak desolation of Tartarus, then the burning fields of Asphodel. He spoke about the caverns around the Styx and the thresholds between realms. Nothing so interesting as to deserve the rapt attention Hermes readily paid. But then, Charon supposed he had been one with the Styx so long that even its strangest features were second nature to him. 

His words felt stilted and awkward compared to Hermes’ singsong melodies. But if he was as terrible a conversationalist as he thought, Hermes did not make any fuss about it. Hermes hummed happily as they drifted along the river, thoughtfully observing each feature Charon pointed out along the way.

“It’s not so bad down here, really. I mean, I’ve got to be a biased source, zipping around on the river with you - but you know, it’s not nearly as desolate as the other Olympians imagine it to be. Though I’m sure Asphodel was a little more pleasant before the flooding.”

“Hreeeeeeeeeh.”

“Ha, well, I suppose you’re right, shades have no reason to _fear_ the lava. But it’s also not exactly reminding them of home either. Most mortals fear death to begin with. Being in an unfamiliar environment hardly helps matters.”

Most mortals feared death. Most mortals feared Charon. He glanced over to Hermes, fixing him with a cryptic gaze.

“Hm? What, do you-” the morbid toll of a bell rang out through the plains of Elysium. Charon turned with a groan, laying eyes upon the god of death himself - Thanatos, floating towards the docks. Thanatos was not menacing, but his appearance signaled some task for Charon, which would undoubtedly interrupt his plans of showing Hermes the temple above Elysium. Another time.

Hermes sighed. “Well, looks like our time’s been cut short yet again.”

Charon groaned mournfully. He would do whatever Thanatos asked of him, as Thanatos asked things of him only rarely. But he would still mourn the time he lost with Hermes in doing so.

“Oh, but before I go - have you had a chance to think of what you might like from me?” Hermes rose to his feet in a flash, flitting towards him. “Any requests? I can get you just about anything. Really, I can. The mortals have some wonderfully strange contraptions, and I’ve got access to just about all of them. Perks of being the patron of merchants.”

He had thought about it. 

He had thought about Hermes. 

He had not reached a conclusion. Charon shook his head. 

Hermes rolled his eyes. “I’m serious about thanking you, you know, so don’t go thinking that you can outlast me. If I say I’m thanking you, then I will most certainly be thanking you.” Hermes leaned in, “I guess that just means I’ll have to prod you for details next time, hm?”

And with one last, _impossibly knowing_ smirk, Hermes zipped away.

“What was that about?” Thanatos asked flatly, hovering towards his ferry. Charon simply sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

Charon had become distracted from the task at hand. 

Admittedly, Hermes did not make it easy to focus. 

Each time the little psychopomp flitted down to the underworld with his gaggle of shades, Charon paid less attention to the souls boarding his ferry and much more attention to Hermes’ shiny wings and silver words. Somewhere, tucked in the very back of his infinitely deep chthonic mind, Charon realized that he must be upsetting the natural order of things. No one should have been able to take his attention away from the Styx. Certainly not an _Olympian_. 

But Hermes was… very distracting. His divine aura shone like a golden beacon in the depths of Tartarus. His singsong voice echoed through the cavern as he greeted each lost soul, preparing them for the afterlife. His very presence resonated deep in Charon’s bones, humming relentlessly until Charon felt as though he were drawn as taught as a lyre string.

Hermes was wondrous. He stole Charon’s attention quickly and wholly. He made Charon happy. Unnervingly so. The feeling had been confusing (and slightly alarming) at first, but Nyx had helped him understand the warm, suffocating strangeness in his chest. Nyx had insisted it was a good thing. But if it was a good thing, Charon wondered, why did he feel as though he might burst?

It was a dangerous thing. Risk of bursting aside, it made Charon want to _speak_. It made him want to tell Hermes of his newly-understood feelings, and that would undoubtedly be their ruin. Privately, he could entertain these frivolous, blasphemous thoughts, but to reveal them? No. Charon could not put words to the strange lightness even if he tried.

Even entertaining the notion was too much, too far out of line. Hermes could never return his feelings. Hermes may not even understand them, much less reciprocate. Certainly, it did not _seem_ like the little winged god felt similarly choked each time he looked upon Charon. And if Charon could not sense it, then there was nothing to sense.

Besides, the two of them were simply too different, Charon supposed. Hermes was woven from the purest, lightest energy; Charon was but a dull, dark, slow thing, sprung from Nyx’s silence and the void of the Styx. Perhaps their differences complemented each other as friends and associates, but nothing more. The chasms between them were simply too vast.

So Charon’s feelings were _dangerous_ , because they would never be reciprocated. Desire, he now knew, was simply another mortal weakness. A flaw among many. A _curse_ , even. There was no greater pain than to wish so desperately for the cosmos to bend to his whim, to will Hermes to return his aberrant feelings. He was not Chaos. He was not Nyx. Charon did not exert his will upon this world - he had never asked the Styx to be anything it was not. He had been satisfied with his place in this universe, tending to the river.

He had been satisfied until he learned what it was to want.

Charon could only wonder how he must have offended Aphrodite so.

“Boss?” Hermes flitted in front of him, somehow bathed in divine light even in the muted, dull corridors of the Temple of Styx. “How rude!” Hermes pouted, though Charon could still sense the ever-present joy in his voice, “You’ve not listened to a single thing I’ve said, have you? For shame!”

Mischief sparkled in Hermes' brown eyes, and Charon’s misty essence that passed for a heart threatened to tangle into an anxious knot. For what it was worth, he _had_ tried to quash his terrible pining, but it was difficult. Every stoic, unyielding promise he made to himself to stop these incessant _feelings_ shattered to pieces whenever the little god came fluttering back to his ferry.

“Hrrrrghhh,” Charon rumbled apologetically.

“You’d better be,” he said, “But I’ll let you off the hook - and I wouldn’t let just anyone off the hook, no, but I’ll go easy on you, as we’ve built up a bit of rapport now, haven’t we?” He smirked, “I suppose I can let your inattentiveness slide in the name of professional relations, but you did miss the most wonderful story about what I saw the other day.”

“Crraaahhh?” Charon growled.

“If I tell you now, I’ll be rewarding your misbehavior. Can’t do that now, can I? Guess it’ll be a secret. A well-kept secret - I might as well be the god of secrets, you know.” He tapped his lips with a few slender, taunting fingers, “You’ll have to force it out of me, then.”

Charon hissed and tightened his grip on his oar. He had no heat in the gesture, of course, but it drew a laugh out of Hermes. He could hardly be too intimidated. After all, Zagreus had beaten Charon twice in combat - and Hermes was a far sight quicker than either he or the prince.

And, of course, Charon could never lay a hand on Hermes. Even if he crossed every line Charon could conceivably draw - even if he snuck interlopers without coin onto his ferry, even if the wicked little psychopomp stole Charon’s gold just to tease, even if Hermes trespassed into the depths of the underworld, stowed away on Charon’s ferry, Charon simply… let him. Perhaps that was how Hermes had come to be the god of thieves. Hermes stole every private thing he had called his own, and Charon let him do it _gladly_.

It was divine magic, Charon thought. It must be. For how else could Hermes weasel his way into Charon’s sacred shop in the Temple of Styx? Better, how could he have done it _twice_? All the shades had been ferried to their respective realms, the psychopomp’s job was certainly complete. And yet, he stayed even after his duties had been fulfilled.

He stayed in the temple. Charon’s domain. The spiritual mouth of the Styx, where life met unlife. Where Charon’s power reigned supreme, above any other god that dared mingle with the river’s ceaseless currents. It was a small domain, his, but powerful all the same. The temple was manifested from Charon’s power itself, not the faith of any mortal worshippers - he had none. The ground, the river, the bones - all of it was sacred.

And Hermes was there.

He desecrated the very place with his presence. His quickness, his capriciousness, his _vibrancy_ was so out of tune with the solemn, unending currents of the Styx. It should have been awful. Charon should have despised the intrusion. And yet, he did not. He did not despise Hermes. He did not turn away from the light in disgust. He... His skin itched at the way he… The way he _felt_ about Hermes being in his sacred domain.

Feelings were still a complicated, untamable beast for Charon, even with Nyx’s help. He did not know what to make of them, even less what to name them. The itching, the heat - He had asked such help of Nyx before, but now… Charon felt a strange reluctance to share these feelings with anyone else. A sort of fear. Of what, he did not know. Only that this strange feeling seemed better kept to himself, lest Nyx draw the same conclusion - that it was dangerous.

“Sooooo,” Hermes hummed, dragging Charon away from his drifting, catastrophizing thoughts. “Far be it from me to hurry along your glacial pace of achieving anything at all, my dear boatman, but have you given any thought to my proposition?”

“Nrrrrraaaaahhh?”

“Don’t you go dodging the subject - you know exactly which proposition I mean, you do. You just don’t want to answer.”

Charon gave a helpless shrug. He truly did not know what he wanted. Gold was always a given, surely, but it was not Hermes’ place to pay him tribute. Companionship, he also desired, but… Not only had Hermes given him that in spades, but… he could not ask any more of Hermes, not in that way. Charon leaned against his oar, unsure.

Hermes stared at him for a moment. Then, quietly, he began to laugh. Charon cocked an eyebrow.

“Look at the two of us,” he said with a grin. “You, the avaricious immortal boatman that even mortals know demand tribute, saying you want nothing. And me, god of thieves and trickery, swearing I’ve got to be honest and hold up my side of the deal. What a pair we make, we do.”

Heh. Perhaps it was ironic.

“Look, I don’t go out of my way for just anyone,” Hermes said, eyes twinkling with mischief, “So you’d best not take it for granted, old man. If you think you can whittle me down with time, then - well, I’ll admit it’s a distinct possibility, as I’ve never been too patient, but you’ll have to deal with my nagging for at least a millenia. Sound fun? No, didn’t think so. So really, it’s best for the both of us - more efficient anyway - if you just tell me what you want, really.”

Charon awkwardly cleared his eternally rasping throat. Perhaps he really should stop dodging away from Hermes’ honest attempts to make even. But to voice his true thoughts just seemed far too risky. But… Perhaps he could speak a half-truth.

He tried. 

Charon dodged around the heaviness of his feelings. He told Hermes that his companionship was enough. That Hermes had brought light to his Stygian caverns. That Charon could not think to ask for anything greater than Hermes’ brilliant presence - that gems and gold were worth nothing compared to his words and his time.

Charon told him far too much, and yet it still did not feel like enough. Not by leagues.

“Charon…” Hermes whispered, faltering as soon as Charon looked up to meet his eyes.

Hermes looked away. Had Charon said something wrong? Doubtless he had. Darkness eternal, he must have. Charon stayed silent, torn between the intense urge to apologize - to backpedal, to beg Hermes to forget whatever he had said so wrongly - and the fear of digging this leaden void any deeper. 

The moment of silence between them felt as if it stretched into an eternity. The heavy feeling in Charon’s gut only swirled and darkened. But Hermes did not shy away. He did not flee. He did not yell, he did not cringe, he did not mock. 

Instead, he closed the space between them, hovering just beneath the wide brim of Charon’s hat, close enough that Charon could feel the eternal sunlight radiating off of him. Close enough that Charon became acutely aware of how terribly obvious the tremor in his chest must be.

“You… _Night_ \- how are you so...” Hermes’ feathers ruffled up anxiously, “To say all that to me with a straight face…”

It was true, Charon whispered, every single wretched word.

“I - ugh - I know that, you’re a horrendous liar, Charon.” Hermes huffed. “It’s just - damnit - shame on you, making me do all the hard work here,” he whispered.

Hermes touched the withered skin of his cheek, gently guiding Charon’s face down towards him. Soft, featherlight fingers tangled into his smokey grey hair. And then, Hermes’ lips covered his own. The utter _softness_ \- the bliss - it was all that Hermes was - none of the harsh light and noise of the other Olympians, only the sunlight, only the kindness.

Hermes kissed the way he went about anything - enthusiastically. Feathered wings fluttered excitedly as Charon wrapped his arms around Hermes’ waist. Violet smoke leaked from Charon’s cloak and wound around the two of them, curling weightlessly against Hermes’ form.

The winged god pulled back, just enough for Charon to take in his devilish grin. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” His slender hands slid over Charon’s skin, tracing down his jawline then further down his neck as Hermes slyly unbuckled his heavy gilded mantle.

“One thing you need to know about me, mate - I don’t do slow,” he teased, feigning innocence as though Charon did not know how utterly sinful his touch would be. “I don’t do things by half, either. You ought to know that, you do.” 

Charon laughed, wretched and raspy and horrific by any other Olympian’s standards. But Hermes did not shy away; he leaned in once more.

“You think you can keep up with me?” Hermes whispered against his lips, “Because I won’t be strung about at a snail’s pace like that poor ferry of yours.” 

Charon softly hissed his assent. They had waited long enough, bumbling around each other like blind bats.

“That’s a good man,” Hermes purred. The little messenger god kissed him in earnest, pushing him up against the stone wall, ravishing him with soft lips and breathy little sounds. He may not have been as strong as his war-inclined siblings, but Charon still bent easily to his demanding touch. Though perhaps it was not his strength that pinned Charon, but his will. Any order Hermes gave, Charon would readily obey. 

Charon hissed as Hermes dominated his mouth, overwhelming him with teasing little nips and tugs at his layers and layers of now seemingly unnecessary clothing. Blood and darkness, if only he could feel Hermes’ skin flush against his own.

Physical contact was uncommon for him, even with the other gods. But he would learn. And Hermes seemed perfectly willing to teach. He grabbed Charon’s slender, deceptively strong hands and pushed them up his thighs, under his flimsy little chiton. “Don’t be shy, boss.”

In this (and only this), Charon learned quickly. A very un-gentlemanly hand roved over Hermes’ thigh, rubbing circles into his smooth skin. Greedy, eager lips crashed into his own, goading Charon into more, _more_ \- Charon could certainly oblige. He squeezed Hermes’ perfect, plush ass and rucked his chiton nearly halfway up his chest.

“More of that, please and thank you,” Hermes moaned, clutching Charon’s misty cloak tight to steady himself. Skeletal fingers teased their way inside the leather band on his inner thigh, snapping it against his skin. “T-this isn’t part of the deal, yeah? Free of charge,” Hermes shuddered. Crimson painted over Hermes’ golden skin, betraying his smugness with his own urgent need. “Hop to, boss.”

“Hrnnn,” Charon murmured, following Hermes’ lead. His own patience had long begun to fray - Hermes’ impatient influence, no doubt. Were he not well aware of Hermes’ very public trip back to Olympus, he would have had half a mind to rip Hermes’ fussy chiton straight off.

“Charon, mate!” a weary voice rang out through the halls of the temple. 

Zagreus. 

Hermes stiffened, frozen for a split second before he burst into a flurry of motion disentangling himself from Charon’s embrace. He zipped over to the hall, spotting the prince entering through the doors. Zagreus would not have seen them. Charon thanked the Styx for that much.

“Blood and -” Hermes prickled, flitting quickly back to Charon’s side. “One of these days, I’m going to have you all to myself, boatman,” he whispered, simmering with frustration, “And we are going to _finish_ this.”

Hermes quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek, then in a flash of light, he sped off. Zagreus limped through the door seconds after, shooting Charon a weak thumbs up. By the looks of it, He had hardly escaped the Bull of Minos and his human unscathed. 

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any gyros this time? No? Of course not.” he sighed, scanning Charon’s array of fine boons and Poms. The prince would have to brave the temple’s vermin-infested tunnels to get everything that he wanted, but it seemed like he had at least saved up enough to buy the generous boon that Hermes had left him.

“All yours,” Zagreus said, dumping a pile of bloodstained obol into his hands. The blood only made it more valuable, Charon mused. Extra iron.

As Charon funneled the obol into his sack, something light and soft tickled against his wrist. He slowly gazed down, identifying the strange interloper. A tiny plume peeked out of his purse, shining with the colors of the sunset. 

A feather from Hermes… Charon did his best to look unaffected until Zagreus left the room, but the second he left to go bother the vermin, Charon slipped into his vault, pulling the feather out to study it closer. A small scroll was tied to the base with a thin red ribbon. Enchanted text flowed over the page - messenger magic, Charon presumed.

_Bet you’re wondering how this got here - what can I say, master of pickpockets. I didn’t steal any of your obol though. Or did I? Ha - guess you’ll have to count! Thought you’d fancy this, my dear business associate, since you like me so much. Until we meet again~  
H._


End file.
